


Rain

by Alex_deMorra (Ergo_Sum)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ergo_Sum/pseuds/Alex_deMorra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Copyright of Alex deMorra</p></blockquote>





	Rain

The first drop was a thump on my right eyelash followed by the subsequent drip down my cheek. Next, a splat on my red corduroyed shoulder. Then, the deluge.

It felt like rain all morning and I couldn’t help but hope for the most dramatic of thunderstorms. 

We need the rain, of course, and it would be best if we could have a gentle fall that took its time filling up the water tables and soaking, rather than washing away, the top soil.

But I like the fat sheets of rainfall that come with a heavy storm. The thunder that shakes my windows. The lightning that flashes through my window like a strobe, illuminating my room for a split second, shaking awake both me and my dog, leaving us both in the dark but sparking with life.

I like when it keeps me awake for ages or, better yet, edging my sleep until I’m more and more tired, more and more imaginative, more and more skivvy with thoughts and images and ideas and desires. It makes me feel like I’m not quite here but, at the same time, more here than I’ve ever been previously. Like, by seeing the fantastic possibility of nature, I can somehow be a part of it and somehow more than who I feel like I am day after day.

My shoes have holes in the bottom. They are supposed to. Aquatic shoes, they are called. I got them because they are comfortable, not thinking of how my socks get wet anytime I splash through a puddle or, more often than not, walk through the wayward stream of a lawn sprinkler. Today, my socks are wet from the new rainfall. Everyone around me is running, pulling their coats over their head or installing themselves under their umbrella. Not me. I’ve stuffed my books under my shirt and I’m casually strolling as if it were a mild summer day. 

The rain has already soaked through to my scalp. Rivulets of the fallout stream behind my ears and over the back of my neck to pool at my waist. I’ll have a damp spot at the top of my pants because of this. 

Hm. This is Awkward. It doesn’t stop me, though.

I remember where I’m going. Home. I was on my way. I was walking for a change - not driving - not taking the bus but actually walking.

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright of Alex deMorra


End file.
